Suds's Short Stories

In this thread, I'm going to just write some short stories based off of prompts that I find online or people talk to me about. I thought this would be a cool idea, since it would help me strengthen my writing, and it might entertain someone who decides they want to read this. If anyone has any suggestions for prompts, feel free to PM me one, and I'll try to use it. None of these stories will feature any NSFW content, so there will be no sex or disturbing graphic violence/gore.

Now, for the first story, the prompt is this: Tell the story through the point of view of a spoon in a dishwasher. Now, let's begin!

The room had been filled with rushing water. It was scary. I had never experienced something like this before. I had only taken normal baths, where I was scrubbed clean. There was none of this rapidly moving liquid. And the sudsy liquid that smothered me had never been this violent. But now, after years of doing this, I've gotten used to it. It's not so scary anymore. It's just a bath with a bit more action. It hasn't hurt any of us yet. But now, in my old age, I wonder if I shouldn't be in it anymore. It happens every Thursday. I wonder if the next Thursday will be my last every time. It's a truly frightening thing. You never know which Thursday will be your last.

Ah, now isn't that just depressing! My mind does go to some odd places. But what can you say? An old spoon going into a dishwasher. The dangers of that water pressure could break it one day. Hope you liked it. More will be coming, and I would love some feedback. Just make sure you send it to me via PM, so this thread doesn't get cluttered, if that many people even read this and want to give me any criticism |D.

I know this was only a few minutes after the first one, but I really wanted to do more of these, They're really fun. Anywho, onto the story! Note: There is some swearing, so if you're not cool with that, then I don't think you should read this. Or do, and just hate me for using a swear word, Either way is fine.

The prompt for this story goes as: Why would a playwright run a red light?

Julia Scott has had the worst day so far. This morning, she failed to wake her kids up in time for the buss, and had to rush through making breakfast so she could drive them to school and get them there on time. Then she had an appointment 15 minutes later, and it took her 25 to get from the school to the hospital. After her appointment, she needed to be at the school for parent teacher conferences, which were starting 20 minutes after her appointment finished. After the meetings with the teachers, Julia could finally go home and relax. She had to be at the first showing of her newest play later that day, but she could at least take a break, first. However, fate was not on her side, as she fell asleep, and woke up five minutes before the play was about to start. "Oh shit!" She exclaimed, running for the door. She grabbed her keys off of the counter on the way out, and slammed her feet into her shoes. Once she got to her car in the driveway, she fumbled around for her keys, and opened the door, slamming it as soon as she got inside. Driving to the theatre, she seemed to get lucky, as there was little traffic, and every light was a green light. Except the last light stopping her from getting to the play. Finally out of patience, Julia drives through the intersection quickly, lucky to have avoided the oncoming traffic. Pulling into the parking lot of the theatre, she sees that it's closed. It was only then that she remembered the play was scheduled for tomorrow.

And the award for the worst day of my stories so far goes tooooooo... JULIA SCOTT! For her role as the always late playwright that ran a red light for no reason! Come on down to accept your prize! But in all seriousness, wow, I am mean. I couldn't give her anything good today, could I? Well, besides the long needed nap. Meanwhile, let me know what you think. All feedback will be helpful, as long as it isn't someone saying "I hate this." At least tell me why you hate it, if you do, and I'll be able to improve. Thank you for reading!

It's been a little bit since the last story, but that's fine. That just means my creativity juices have been reinvigorated, and I'm ready to write the next story!

The writing prompt for this story is this: Write a story about friendship with a high school student as the main character and a fountain as the key item. Set the story in a flower shop. And here we go. Hope you like it.

Franklin Goodwill walked into the store, the aroma of the flowers hitting his nose at all sorts of angles. He looks over at bundle of roses, resting next to a small fountain. The fountain was elegantly carved, made to look like a rose, painted white. From the middle of the petals water spewed out, falling serenely into the stone pool below. It seemed that the liquid was reused at a pace that kept the water level equal. Franklin could see coins below in the surface, ranging from the brownish-orange of copper pennies to the silver of nickles, dimes, and quarters.

Remembering why he was there, the teenage boy grabbed one of the bouquets of roses next to the fountain, and made to walk to the counter. At the same time, another person was running into the store, late for work. She didn't even notice Franklin until it was too late, and careened him and herself into the fountain. Looking up, the high school student recognized the girl from the hallways in school, but he never knew her name.

Standing up and out of the fountain, he was glad that he made sure to get a waterproof wallet and that his phone was in a protective case. Chuckling a little bit, he held his hand out to the girl, offering to help her out.

"You might want to watch where you're going next time." He said with a genuine smile. "Not many people appreciate getting knocked into a fountain in a flower shop."

The girl shook her head to try and dry it off, and saw the boy's hand. Taking it lightly and cautiously, she was lifted out of the stone basin.

"I'm so sorry, I'll make it up to you!" She cried out, guiltily falling to her knees. "I'll do anything yo-"

"You don't need to do anything for me. It was an accident. An honest mistake." Franklin spoke softly. "And besides, you shouldn't go telling people you'll do anything for them over something like this. There are plenty of sickos out there that would take advantage of that."

Brushing himself off, he looked at the crushed roses in his hand. He must have landed on them in the fall. Oh well, he could just get a new one. Paying for two wouldn't put that much of a dent in his wallet. The flowers were cheap, anyways.

"Actually, there is one thing you could do." The teenage boy said. "Tell me your name, and I'll forgive you entirely."

"Is that all? Really?" She asked, and Franklin simply nodded. "Well, it's Mary Fitzgerald."

"Mary, then? Well, my name's Franklin, Franklin Goodwill. Funny, I've seen you in school so many times, yet I had never known your name."

Mary just smiled, before she realized she still hadn't clocked in. "Oh, crap, I need to go. My boss is going to kill me!"

And with that, she ran off. Franklin, though drenched, felt that today was a great day. He picked up another bouquet of roses, and brought them over to the counter. Mary had already gotten to the register within the few seconds that it took for him the get another batch of roses and to walk over to pay for them.

"Man, you are fast. You must get a lot of practice at being late to work." He said jokingly. "Here, I'd like to buy this bouquet for my mother, and this one because I crushed it."

Mary laughed, ringing up both bunches, and then the two of them got into a long conversation. It was only interrupted when another customer cleared his throat from behind the two.

"Oh, my bad." Franklin apologized to the man, and grabbed his two bouquets of roses, one of which he got laminated and pressed, so they would never disappear. He wouldn't want the reminder of his new friendship to go away, of course.

A week later, Franklin and Mary had become the best of friends, and Franklin had created a mini version of the fountain that had brought the two of them together, which he placed on his nightstand, next to the picture they took in front of the rose fountain the day after they met.

And that's the end of that. Though, if I get a prompt that works for it, I'll try to use them again in a later work. But that's all for now, hope you liked it. Remember, feedback it great! See you!